


Das Schicksal (fate)

by Atmaat



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Blood and Gore, Hurt/Comfort, LOTS of violence, M/M, Middle Age setting, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Polyamory, Slow Burn, Torture, a bit of manipulation, animal death but quickly described and painless, established relationship gone wrong, monster au, sex in a carriage, this is going to be messy so bear with me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-20
Updated: 2021-03-24
Packaged: 2021-03-28 23:21:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30147189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atmaat/pseuds/Atmaat
Summary: (A monster AU in medieval times, in which monsters are more human than you'd think they would be)He discovered the madness of his peers, the other beings they created along the way, seen as lesser than humans, shunned by all gods despite serving some of them and abandoned to the shadows to fight for a mere survival. More powerful than human children, the creatures were still abandoned by all, their only rights being to torment and be tormented and sometimes erased from existence itself.Something felt wrong to the god, it felt unfair but also, it felt like he was destined to look at them closer.Was his decision of walking off his path really his own or was it fate all along ?
Relationships: Paul Landers/Christoph Schneider | Doom, Paul Landers/Till Lindemann, Richard Kruspe/Paul Landers, Richard Kruspe/Paul Landers/Till Lindemann/Christoph Schneider | Doom, Richard Kruspe/Till Lindemann, Till Lindemann/Christoph Schneider | Doom
Comments: 6
Kudos: 17





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 1 : English isn't my first language and I did this all my myself, you will spot mistakes ! (if you can report them to me, that'd be lovely !)  
> 2 : I do not own the guys, obviously, they are pretty OC there, I'm not pretending to know them, this is more a case of "what kind of movie setting can I put their faces in as actors ?", with all my respects.  
> 3 : If you like it, leave a comment, that'll make my day and motivate me for more (it is a long one)
> 
> Have fun !

**Der alte Gott (the ancient God)**

He lurks.

He saw humanity grow up from the depth of the sea and he grew with it. He saw creation and destruction done by their new hands and desires, saw the blood they spilled on the throne of others, he saw ashes fall on civilizations.

He offered his wrath and blessings to the ones knowing his name as it got whispered by other gods, never once asking himself if that was the right path to follow, never once caring for it.

He lurks.

After being bored by the wars and their many gods affiliated to them, he took interest in lonely people, recluse and somber ones, observing them from the darkness, feeding on the worst of humanity for ages and trying to understand. To this day he walks the line in between giver and receiver of pain, seeing through the eyes of the killers and their victims one at a time.

He lurks.

He took pity on the powerless victims, extended his shadowy arm to offer his help but most didn’t see him as they didn’t know his name, didn’t feel him either, being too scared and isolated. He spent a lot of time lying on floors next to small humans, feeling their despair but ultimately being helpless, only able to watch as their flames were being consumed way too quickly.

"Call for me," he whispered often, but no victim could even hear him.

It took him ages to break the chains he was created with, to go past the wall and act without being requested to. The first time it happened, he claimed the soul of a little girl right as her last breath escaped her pale lips, cursing the other gods for not responding to the pain he felt so often, quieter than the wars and less glorious, of lonely victims.

That day he destroyed the executioner by becoming one of his own accord, being shunned by his peers for walking away from his role and never once regretting his decision, repeating it even.

It felt like opening a door to a new world, like he opened his eyes to what the truth was, without any blindfold pushed on him. He discovered the madness of his peers, the other beings they created along the way, seen as lesser than humans, shunned by all gods despite serving some of them and abandoned to the shadows to fight for a mere survival. More powerful than human children, the creatures were still abandoned by all, their only rights being to torment and be tormented and sometimes erased from existence itself.

Something felt wrong to the god, it felt unfair but also, it felt like he was destined to look at them closer.

Was his decision of walking off his path really his own or was it fate all along ?

_

**Der Jäger (the hunter)**

The comforting sun just disappeared behind the horizon, leaving most of nature silent after a cloudless day. The wind that was slightly cool during the day now turns cold, enough to make people shiver and quickly walk home to seek the warmth of a fireplace. But this story doesn't start where people live, or at least not the ones you'd expect. It starts near an isolated and abandoned farm, barely standing in a tall grass field bordering a dense forest. A village once stood there, its ruins now scattered with nature taking over most of them, hiding the old constructions in bushes, tall herbs and moss.

A huge white wolf is asleep next to the lonely farm, inside a large hole it dug the night before, resting on a thin blanket made of dry leaves and branches. Its breathing is erratic and it suddenly opens its eyes, heaving and trying to clear its throat, ultimately puking half digested meat and what seems like a piece of metal with a gem attached to it. 

A ring ?

The animal growls as it feels the hunger slamming in his guts. It slowly stretches and yawns, its powerful muscles shaking the slumber away before it decides to stand. When it does, its eyes glow red as ambers and its whole body slowly changes forms as it growls at the uncomfort it inevitably brings with it. 

The creature's limbs crack and seemingly rearrange themselves, unnatural and brutal. The skin gets pushed around, stretched and opening in places, letting multiple wolves' heads pop out of the fur, howling in pain and rage. The fur falls with parts of the skin, leaving a white waxy skin exposed as a man gets born off it all, shivering and screaming.

Soon enough, the transformation ends and he is a man like anyone else, his ember red eyes slowly burning off to regular human eyes. He looks around, trembling, readapting and he falters for a second, struggling to simply stand on two legs. He feels slow and exposed, scratching his scalp with one hand like a wolf would do while the other pats the floor before grabbing the leather clothes that were kept flat under the wolf's body, keeping them warm for the night.

He grunts and tries to make sounds like a human would, hitting his head a few times as if it could help him get it right. "Chrisss...Sschneider," he mutters to himself, his voice sounding rough but repeating the words again and again as he slowly gets dressed.

Schneider spent too much time by himself, he even aggravated the situation by turning himself fully into a wolf and now feels awfully rusty in his human skin but still forces himself to gather his thoughts back. He vaguely remembers how hunger forced him to eat rotten flesh and- He looks down to his feet, seeing the ring he puked earlier. It belonged to a woman. From what Schneider remembers seeing, she died way before he found her, alone and fully dressed. She probably got lost and starved to death or she injured herself and the result was the same.

"You didn't kill her," he whispers, surprised as he crouches to take the ring and wear it on his pinky.

He really needs to leave.

Tonight, he's traveling, needing to go south as the weather here will soon be an icy hell. Soon he won't have enough sustenance to stay healthy and sane. He has to go closer to villages to hopefully steal some food and sleep in caves or wish for hospitality. As he puts on the last piece of clothing he possesses around his shoulders, a large dark cape, he hears a clicking noise and remembers his days exploring the ruins. He pats his pockets and finds the old coins he gathered months ago, solid gold that can buy him a few nights in a warm place with a meal if all goes right.

Before starting his journey, he grabs an old and bended helmet that he used to gather the rain near him and drinks half of it before splashing his face with what is left. He tries to comb his long wavy hair with his fingers without much success, it will stay unruly for the time being. Strange how his beard doesn't grow while he turns into a wolf but his hair does, annoying and weird.

Once he is finally ready he smells the cold wind and smiles at what it brings him, his growling stomach as well as many voices in his mind push him toward a savory smell. And so, awkwardly, he starts walking, falling quite a few times as he has lost the habits of walking on two legs but never giving up. 

He has to be decent from when he'll inevitably stumble upon people.

_

  
  


**Der Verführer (the seducer)**

Far away from Schneider, in another country even, a circle of witches is laughing in a dense forest. They are dancing wildly around a large fire, breasts free, elders and youngers alike celebrating the full moon above their heads as another season passed.

They don’t know about the holy men who swore to burn them yet, too happy and feasting on delicate meals of berries and roots. They are a gathering of some of the softest witches in existence, not the revengeful ones or old crones who eat babies without a second thought, no, these ones aren’t the overly dangerous kind at all. They are just free women with a connection to the occult praising otherworldly forces to have successful cultures no matter the weather.

Richard observes them from afar, barely hiding behind a tree. He genuinely stumbled upon them, wandering all over the lands on foot as he despites going back to the darkness these days. He likes the unexpected feel of humanity, why would he answer when someone invokes him when he can show up uninvited ? 

He wishes to be spotted, wishes to be called in the circle with all of his being, to feel warm flesh under his cold fingers. He is made of desires after all, feeds on it, sold countless souls to do as such and that circle is calling him without even knowing, all powerful that they are.

He is starving.

Witches are his favorites, fierce and not afraid of his energy, feeling the devil inside of him and wanting a share of it. Oh, he’ll share, he’ll share everything he can as long as they want him to. If he could feel warmth like a human, he’d be feverish at the scene, at the raw emotions the circle is offering to the wild that he gathers selfishly like he is Satan himself. 

He might not be the prince of darkness but he is closer to the center of hell than most.

Eventually his presence gets acknowledged and the circle stops dancing, intrigued by the power they are sensing. He closes his eyes to savor the taste of their surprise melting into desire as he gives up his position, stepping out of his hiding place. Numerous eyes devour him as he slowly walks toward them. They can all tell what he is and he loves that he can be so open about it and his intentions.

He is the closest they can get of hell, they’ll take him.

The long dark robe he was wearing soon falls on the ground, absolutely forgotten behind as his strong and naked body is slowly and silently judged by the witches. Confident, his steps have an unnatural smoothness to them as he lets his human mask fall. His skin gets paler just like his hair does, his fingers and feets blaken while his eyes turn cold and white with a black dot in the center.

His gaze burns everyone it falls upon, bringing their secret desires to his judgement, without any possibilities to hide them. He is here to be worshipped and worshipped he will be, ready to satisfy them to steal a bit of their lives in exchange for some light powers, as it is the custom every witch knows.

He lets lust and desire take control, extending his arms to invite them in his embrace, his now pointy tongue sliding in the mouth of an old witch, his palm caressing the breast of a younger one and sliding down. He gets slowly surrounded by them and laughs quietly to himself. The youngests gasp when they see the wings slowly grow out of his back, stretching up, as pale as his skin, while thick claws grow out of his hands, scratching where they can reach.

He met some of the oldest witches in their prime, glad to see them stand proud decades later but he will never admit it, too proud to show any form of attachment. The world is changing, he senses it and can tell that a coven of that kind will not stand a chance against what's coming for them. 

Tonight he will entertain them with all his glory as a bitter taste in his mouth reminds him that it is probably a goodbye. He hates that he is powerless to what will happen to them, hates how it reminds him of his own painful past but at least, in their case, he can honor them. 

He might be powerful but he doesn't hold enough of it under his own name. No, he might not be the prince of darkness but it damn feels like it when they scream his name and fight for him.

And that is enough for now.

_

  
  


**Das Gift (the poison)**

Rats, eternal and powerful, so smart but also able to run the line of being scary and sweet friends. Paul cannot help but have them come to him when he walks close to villages during dark nights. They like him for an unknown reason, like running on his bare feet to gather poison before going back to their nests with their gifts. They are often affectionate when they come, sometimes letting him scratch and pet them. 

Sadly they always leave with rage in their eyes.

Tonight feels like a thousand similar ones as Paul walks mindlessly, humming to himself and avoiding most encounters. He appreciates the last smells of summer in the fields and the far away lives coming with it. He cannot help the melancholy bursting in his chest every time he smells the smoke of chimneys, slow cooking, drying flowers and cereals.

He wants to walk toward the village and does so without thinking as he hears a family singing loudly inside their tiny house. He doesn't look through the window, only presses his forehead and hands against the wall, smiling at the happiness passing through it.

He could ask for one night off the road as he often craves it but knows too well what the result will be.

He is cursed after all.

"Wanderer," a voice orders from behind him, "turn around gently."

Paul curses silently, he was so caught up in the singing and his own mind that he made a careless mistake : he didn't hear the person approach. His own shadow dances on the wall in front of him, seemingly unthreatening but people should know better than to approach a stranger coming from far away.

He turns around, a smile devoid of warmth on his face, politely saluting the large man only trying to protect the village with an axe and a wooden shield.

"I do not mean any harm, I am on my way." Paul points to his left, toward the dark woods extending to the horizon, taking one step in that direction in hope that this is enough interaction.

"Not so fast !" The man screams, making the singing from inside the house brutally stop.

"There is no need to yell," Paul tries to calm down the situation, his voice soft and low, "I do not-"

"Shut up and don't move !"

The man steps closer, trembling. Something is off and Paul already knows what. This is the reason he avoids people during the night. See, his eyes are reflective just like cats and he has no doubts that the torch's light showed the forbidden greenish gold to the poor man.

"I do not want to hurt you," Paul says in between his teeth, his smile unfaltering.

"No, of course you won't, not me, you like them younger, you monster…"

Paul gets confused, feeling accused of something he didn't do. He is about to ask about it when two other men arrive in a hurry, also armed with tools and probably alerted by the strong voice of their fellow farmer.

Paul is trapped against the house and can feel the fear of the youngs inside. For everyone's sake he focuses on his breathing, barely giving attention to the newcomers for the time being.

"Good job, Gavin, we caught that bastard," the oldest of the men rejoices darkly as he pokes Paul with a long rusty fork before laughing.

"Careful, Jonah, it's not human," the strong farmer Gavin points out, rising the flame of the torch to show Paul's eyes. As soon as they see the reflections, the two others step back in fear and hold their weapon up with more force.

"What do you want, demon ?" Fear and anger bleed into Jonah's words.

Paul closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, not yet decided on which emotion he should be showing between cold seriousness and soft reassurance. Both might fail.

Both will fail.

"I want nothing, I am just passing," he tries to be neutral while looking directly into their eyes to convey it.

Wrong words, wrong expressions, he can feel how upset they are at his answer, the tension rising so much that it makes him shiver.

"Then why did you take my youngests ?!" Rage and sadness pours from the one who didn't say a word until now, he is visibly shaking and close to tears.

His pain will be clouding his judgement no matter what Paul will say.

"I didn't. I am just passing," he tries anyways.

"Lies !" 

The man is quicker than what Paul expected and he gets punched right in the nose, his head slamming against the wall as he slides down after the powerful blow. His blood is falling on his face, dark, disgusting and thick. Paul feels the pain and rage but tries his hardest to keep it down for the moment, giving them one last chance to let him go.

"I didn't do anything to your kids, I don't even know that place, I don't care about you. If i was a demon do you really think i'd bother talking with you ? No, I'd bathe in your whole town's blood. I am not the one you are looking for."

He spits blood and stands up, his gaze now darker as his anger slowly rises against his will, fueled by the men's rage.

"Do not anger me more, just let me go," he adds slowly, trying to be as clear as possible.

He knows how useless it is, can tell it will end up badly when he sees tears in the eyes of the father who punched him, feels the nausea overtaking Gavin and the white rage in Jonah's eyes. These people suffered the loss of their children, they are putting their lives in line in order to protect the ones who are still standing.

So be it.

Paul's eyes darken as the men prepare to attack together as one. He waits for them to move before doing the same and blocks most hits except one in his ribs done with a rusty hammer, breaking some of his bones like they were sticks of wood. That is the moment he lets himself go, as the pain makes his mind go blurry. A wicked smile appears on his lips and dark matter falls from them.

Whatever he did gets an immediate reaction from the farmers who heave and puke, gasping for air and scratching their throats as something is burning them. They fall and contort on the ground, suffering too much to even scream while Paul watches, getting some twisted appreciation out of it against his most profound will. 

It is over fast.

"Told you," Paul simply says coldly, clearing his throat and spitting black goo on the ground before walking away. 

The grass in his path withers and dries, its life being drowned out by the concentrated curse boiling inside of him. He hates that he had to go that far, that he condemned the men to die horrible deaths, but that was the only way to not destroy the full village. If more pain had been inflicted to him, it would have been really bad for everyone, but with only those three gone the others will survive.

Because it is what it is all about, right ? Surviving ?

He disappears into the woods with a quick pace, only slowing down a long time after and feeling sick himself at what he had done. He cannot even die, not really, his injuries are already starting to heal so he could have taken the hits, he could have waited longer or tried to escape, maybe ?

The emotions are too much, too many things happened tonight, too fast. It makes him puke and scream alone surrounded by the trees and silence. Not even a lonesome rat or insect will approach him as he radiates death.

He curses the night for his existence before wishing to go home, back to the ones he called his family.

But he is all alone.

_

  
  


**Der Leiche (the corpse)**

Flake yawns, his blunt nails are scratching a bit more into the massive wooden table at the center of the old dilapidated room he is waiting in, leaving a growing tear in the hard material. He barely remembers the last time he went outside but can hear the sounds of the world come in, louder and louder each day.

What an awful world that is.

The faint light of the moon is piercing through the old stones above him, shining on the table like silver. The stones of the old cave he’s in were moved by the sheer force of a tree that grew there for decades. It is the only physical way out, a hole of the size of a small rat.

Not that Flake is in a hurry to leave anyways, it is too dangerous for him.

He looks up as a shadow passes, cutting his light source for a quick moment. The stomping is loud, echoing on the old walls, but he is safe as long as he doesn’t make his presence known. After all, with the exception of the skeleton seated in front of him, jaws dropped open for the last couple of years, he is alone right now.

Or so he thinks.

A scream is heard, the scream of a terrified man quickly followed by the fall of an armored body on the soft ground surrounding the place Flake hides in. Unexpected to say the least, that is why Flake dares standing to look through the hole, wanting to know what just happened.

Red eyes that are shining too high from the ground to be from an animal are looking straight at him, accompanied by low growling. It only lasts an instant before stopping abruptly, the eyes blinking.

“Flake ?” a hoarse voice asks, surprised.

The isolated man almost crushes his face against the hole to observe better. 

“Aw, is that you, Doom ?”

The silhouette comes closer and crouches but only his glowing red eyes are visible, most of his features hiding behind a dark cloak.

“Schneider, not Doom…" he sounds like he hasn't talked in a long time, and maybe he hasn't. "I never thought I’d see you again, but in a way I’m not too surprised to find you here," he says with a smile in his voice.

“Been hiding, safe,” Flake shrugs before looking a bit at the corpse that is close to them, salivating. “Do you plan on doing anything with this ?”

Schneider laughs, taking off the hood of his cloak, revealing a disheveled and dirty face. His eyes stop glowing and it immediately looks less menacing, even fragile for an instant that is quickly lost when he drags the corpse closer without care, even kicking it as it doesn't behave the way he expects it to.

“Be my guest," he says with another smile.

Dark claws are shining in the moonlight, coming off Schneider's pale fingers. With them, he slashes the victim’s throat open and blood starts pouring down the hole, making Flake almost squeal with happiness. 

“Oh, bless your heart,” is all Flake says before opening his mouth wide to let the droplets of blood fall into it.

It blinds him for a small while, his instincts kicking in. He gargles, making mindless noises, scratching with the stones with his nails and teeth as he tries to get as much blood as possible.

His skin darkens in reaction to the meal, becoming dark grey mixed with blue, his full eyes now glassy and unfocused. He looks like death incarnate, like a corpse.

Schneider’s laugh can be heard outside, observing his old friend for a moment before feeling too hungry himself. Then, the characteristic noise of flesh being ripped off and bones being cracked open resonate in the quiet and abandoned village as both just dine under the moonlight as if this is a normal reunion.

And in a way, it is.

_  
  


**Der Gestaltwandler (the shapeshifter)**

Oliver peaks his head outside the small window of his even smaller room, making sure that the city is asleep.

He lives under the roof of the leathersmith workshop where he works as an employee, glad not to pay for the room as he also doubles as a keeper.

Still, his world is small, working and living really closely to the market. He almost exclusively lives on one street and barely even goes outside of the city these days.

Tonight is different, he has an urge to get out, to breathe. 

And so he does, walking quickly through the streets, getting the attention of wild cats and rodents while avoiding people and their troubles. It should be difficult to do for such a tall man but he has good hearing and an even better agility.

Soon, he is outside, sitting on a small stone wall at the edge of the busy city, brushing the sweat off his forehead. He’s sitting under the last torch on the road, enjoying the warmth on his sore neck. His day seemed endless, noisy, he needs the quiet air the night can provide him.

Living so close to people is exhausting, even for him. That is why he ignores the guard walking down the road, doesn’t even listen to the advice given to be careful. He just needs some air and peace.

He quickly looks up to the moon which is getting engulfed by dark clouds, probably bringing a welcoming rain, or so he wishes. He tries focusing on the weather rather than the moon itself as it reminds him of painful memories.

A shuffling sound surprises him, loud in the dark bushes behind his back.

Oliver closes his eyes, internally sighing as his peace seems short lived. He doesn’t move anyways, no creature has the power to really be a danger to him so close to civilization and so early in the night.

But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t annoy him.

“I’d advise not to do whatever you are about to,” he softly says to the darkness, his annoyance barely audible.

Further away, the torch of the guard he saw earlier is almost as small as a pin, the quick steps took the man to the crossroad, giving Oliver some freedom of actions if these are needed. 

“What a shame. I wanted to hug you,” respond a cheerful voice from the bushes, laughing.

Oliver recognizes the voice and opens his eyes in surprise, turning around to make sure it isn't his mind playing tricks on him. He is both excited and not too happy about the person attached to it, only seeing two greenish reflective dots in the darkness, unmistakable.

“Paul ?” 

The reflection in the eyes seemingly stops as Paul indeed steps out of the bushes with open arms, smiling like a sun under the warm light. It almost looks unreal, like a trap.

Oliver should be happy to see his old friend but isn’t as much as he'd want to, too worried about the numerous rats running on the bare feet of the newcomer and the general appearance of the man himself. Paul doesn’t look too bad face wise, he looks alive enough but his clothes really seem off, torn apart. When he embraces Oliver, a strong and distinct smell of earth, water and rotten meat combined goes right into his nostrils. 

It isn’t a smell anyone should wear on them, but Paul isn't just anyone.

“Tell me you don’t have any business in the area and you just came to say hello,” Oliver asks softly, trying to get reassurance from the other as he weakly pats his back.

Paul breaks the hug, surprised by the question before shrugging, looking at the flame near them without blinking, gold dancing in his eyes. The city is lovely, full of people and getting more and more inhabitant by the day. It should become a grand one, if nothing unexpected goes wrong with it.

“Not necessary,” Paul admits after an uncomfortable silence, himself sounding quite uncomfortable.

“Which one, the hello or the other ?” Oliver tries not to sound nervous, worrying more about the city folks than he cares to admit, failing to look impassible.

“The more you talk about the town, the more interested I am with it. Why do you care about it more than me, an old friend ?”

Oh Paul, such a holy name for a being pretending to be a man and holding disaster into his palms. Not That he really has full control over it but the results stay the same.

“I live here now." Oliver shakes his head, decided to defend the town against the other, if he can. "Been for a while, since we separated in fact.”

“And ?”

The nonchalance annoys Oliver a lot and he knows Paul feels it, it is even possible that Paul does it on purpose, maybe to show that he is hurt.

“And that’s it ? I like it here, people are nice, I’m working and-”

“You are working ?! What happened to you ?”

A laugh, mocking or surprised, no matter which one, bringing more annoyance to the dialogue.

“Not everyone can survive out of nothing. The world is changing and I have to win my bread.”

Paul looks down for a second, in deep thoughts to the point of losing his signature smile. Oliver can almost guess what his next sentence will be. Sure, a while ago Oliver loved being by himself and hunting in the old fashion way but…Oliver and Paul aren’t the same, at all. Sure Oliver had the misfortune to be born with the ability to change his appearance at will but he was still born of humans, is still closer to them than any basic witch can be.

“What if we could all be together again ?” Paul asks simply without meeting Oliver's eyes, a distant smile on his face, hopeful.

“I don’t think we can. We are too different, remember how it ended ? It has been years, I just-” Oliver gestures to the city. “I made friends here.”

“Have you ?” It isn’t as mean as it sounds, in fact it even sounds like envy but isn’t really that either.

No one knows Oliver like the others do, like Paul or Flake, and no humans can know either for his safety. Still, he cannot just go back and live with monsters who literally came from the depth of darkness, not again.

“I can’t go with you, just...Just leave the city alone and leave, please.”

“Oliver-” Paul tries, clearly offended by how quickly Oliver asked him to leave.

“Please go !”

Oliver's tone doesn't leave any room for discussion, it is rare enough in the man's mouth so Paul only nods, defeated already. 

“It was nice seeing you.” 

Paul looks sad to the point of anger, almost hissing as he goes away in what seems like a dark cloud of nothingness, leaving no sounds, just the cold wind of the night and silence.

It is after his old friend is gone that Oliver regrets asking him to leave. He feels alone again, more than when he was wandering years ago. His mind races, bringing back happy and painful memories alike, from a time where he felt like he truly belonged without any walls.

He cannot be himself around the humans, he is trapped inside.

"Paul ?" He asks to the night, looking around in hope that his friend stayed close enough to hear him. "PAUL !"

Nothing answers back but the cold wind.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fate pushes them to meet again, slowly and painfully

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think will happen next ?   
> no geniunely, give me ideas (I have a lot of ideas already but I like discussing more)

**Das Überleben (the survival)**

Schneider got upset from seeing Flake hide his life away and decided to dig into the soft ground, using his many limbs to do so, wolves legs and claws coming out of his torso working fast as many eyes look at the scene from the side of his face.

He is efficient at this, used to dig holes for him to rest safely in. That is why he faces the entrance of the cellar that crumbled in almost no time. Flake keeps complaining about it all, his voice muffled but never stopping, not wanting to be exposed to the world and pushing more stones from his side onto the rubbles.

“Flake, will you shut up ?!” is all Schneider can say before growling and having a multitude of wolve’s heads coming out of his body to growl as a reaction to his anger.

That has the merit of shutting Flake down until the path gets cleared and the two get face to face. Flake is tall and thin as always but he is also now looking miserable, dirty and desperate, walking backward until his knees hit the chair, falling onto it.

“What have you done ?!” he wails, faintly protecting himself from Schneider who keeps walking towards him, red eyes shining from all over his body, expressionless.

“I am helping you live, come on Flake,” he whispers calmly.

He offers his hand, staying at a precise distance of the other, not wanting to be more forceful than he already is. And it seems to work as Flake mumbles at first, then thinks and thinks again as Schneider keeps waiting patiently, looking more like a human now. All of the extra limbs are back inside him as a way to reassure his old friend.

It is only after the moon’s light isn’t shining on the table anymore that Flake finally raises his hand in return, touching the wolf creature with his fingertips, ready to accept his offer. Schneider smiles then, helping the other stand and hugging him furiously, with more force than necessary, even lifting him up a little. It has been a really long time since he even talked to anyone, his hugs are rusty too.

Flake would lie if he says he don’t like it.

“Flake." He grabs his arms, shaking him slightly, not trying to be too rough but unable to help it. "When I left you were such a powerful man, what happened to you ?” he decides to ask, curious and needing a bit of normality back.

Normality, as if anything about them ever was normal...Schneider was human a long time ago, he barely knows what it means anymore. He avoids everyone, from isolated places to villages and cities. He lives like a wolf, being a pack all in himself. He doesn’t resent what he is, he only regrets not having his friends around anymore.

“I just...I got bored of being stuck in my tower and tried going back to a city, finding a purpose, being all human !" Flake smiles warily, showing his black teeth. He isn't telling the full truth. "But it became too obvious that I am not. Also people don’t like when people dig their graves…”

Ah, Flake and his unusual taste for brains. Not that he even needs it, it’s just a taste he acquired, thanks to the others and their...Gifts. Anyways, years of being a strange and reclusive scientist going against most dogmas, making discoveries and pushing boundaries only to end up enclosed in a cellar is such a disgrace, Flake himself knows it is.

“They found out about you ?” Schneider asks, intrigued, suddenly sitting to give his full attention to the tall ghoul.

“Almost, I think they wanted to hang me, or burn me, I don’t really know, I didn’t stay long enough to find out," he pauses, thinking, "I had to abandon my second lab and rats…”

“Aw, I miss your rats,” Schneider smiles at the memories of the old lab Flake had, away from civilization but full of life.

“You ate a lot of those rats !” Flake laughs back, pointing at him with a shaky hand.

He did, they were too tempting, Flake really fed them too much and they looked so tasty that on one really cold winter night Schneider just caved in. He still feels a bit sorry about it, but he was so hungry then…

“And you are hiding there since ?” Schneider wonders.

“Yes, when I ran away I stumbled onto that old place, liked sleeping in that cave, made a friend-” He shows the skeleton sitting on the second chair, eternally smiling. “Felt safe.”

“Don’t you miss your lab ? Experimenting ? The sun ? Talking ?” ‘Don’t you miss us ?’ is also a question that almost slips out of Schneider’s lips but he keeps it sealed, swallowing it back. 

Of course Flake does miss it all, it looks painfully obvious on his face. But Schneider also understands that Flake had little options, he is just a ghoul, virtually immortal but still weak to many human’s weapons. He doesn’t have any specific power besides his intellect, cannot really join regular humans unless he keeps traveling. It might have been extra hard for him.

Schneider loves the outside, the nature, he has the power to just enjoy being there and not be too out of place. He can look like a wolf after all.

“Want to walk out of here ? I can be your dog. I’ll hunt for you,” he proposes, genuinely wanting to be there for his friend.

Flake smiles, imagining the scene of him all tall and thin with a big white wolf next to him, like some sort of myth. Schneider is absolutely strong enough for the both of them, but for a second Flake fears that he might be a useless weight.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to try,” Schneider reads through him, “I ask because I miss talking with anyone...I miss a purpose and I miss our friendship.”

At least he is honest. Schneider gained his powers through his desire for revenge after the death of his fiancée, got what he wanted in blood and found solace in their group. He wants that back instead of wandering mindlessly.

They think about a possible future when a lot of noises take them out of it : armored steps, from multiple people accompanied by the yelling of a name indicating that they are looking for one of their own, probably the one Schneider killed.

Flake silently curses and almost prostrates himself in a corner, fear clear into his eyes as the steps come closer to the soldier’s corpse. Schneider doesn’t move an inch, listening intently, waiting. There is a chance that they will take back the corpse and leave with it.

The steps get closer, loud and heavy, cursing at the sight of the cadaver that got eaten. More yelling occurs then, gathering more people, making them frantic. The hole Schneider dug is slightly hidden by a tree but if the soldiers even take a slight walk around the corpse, they’ll spot it, fresh and inviting.

Flake almost begs Schneider, his eyes pleading with a mix of “What have you done ?” and “Do something !”. 

From what audio clues Schneider could gather, there are about seven soldiers, heavily armored. He can take them but he will be injured and that is a fact. He could run and hope to bait the soldiers, but it is highly unlikely that all will follow. If even one stays back and sees Flake, that could turn sour really quickly…

No, he has to fight for them both, and possibly with a bit of cover, in case an archer is in the party.

Schneider nods to Flake, his eyes glowing red as his feet and hands grow strong claws. He has to be quick and efficient.

He growls loudly enough to catch the attention of the soldiers, nodding to Flake as if he has everything under control but he doesn’t. He just hopes things will go alright. He is powerful and survived on his own for a long time, but he mostly knew when to run away. He never had to really care for another person alone.

His legs become slightly bended, slowly shaping themselves as wolf legs, the claws firmly digging in the ground to push his body forward. He throws himself outside, quickly finding cover behind crumbled walls as he tries to find how to attack and who first.

The yellings are more intense, the soldiers think he is just an animal and think that they can make him run away. 

He would in any other situation but now.

He jumps out of his hiding place to hit one of them heavily with his whole body, enough to kick the air out of his lungs, giving just enough time to take the soldier’s helmet off with one claw as the wolfverish man stomps really hard with his back leg, breaking a bone, probably the jaw, and puncturing the throat really hard. 

If that didn’t kill the soldier immediately, time will do just as much. What matters is that this one is out of the fight.

It is all he can really get as a first hit. The element of surprise is gone and the soldiers now know what he looks like and yell in horror at the monstrosity that he is, half human half wolf, not quite the werewolf some obscure books talk about.

Schneider jumps back, hiding again as he just spotted what he hates the most : an archer.

Of course the soldiers are still trying to plan on action, forming a circle to protect their weak points, the archer placed in their center with his bow ready. These are not regular soldiers, no glorified men amongst them, no. These are holy men that are blinded by their faith to the point of not stepping back when facing someone like Schneider.

What a lack of luck that is, he should have known better than to kill the lonely soldier for sustenance.

Schneider hates how these people under that one God’s banner are coming deeper and deeper into the unclaimed lands, in the deep forests, darkest caves and far away bogs. No place seems safe anymore.

But at the moment he waits, patiently, until one of them steps out or makes a mistake. He hopes he can avoid the blunt force, he wants to avoid the pain of being sliced up if it is possible to do. Sadly, the soldiers seem to hold on to their position, their faith keeping them still for what seems like an hour and Schneider cannot just taunt them if he wants to kill them efficiently.

So he listens to his urges, becomes more of a wolf but with limbs as large as his human ones, feeling the energy in his muscles as he is both excited to fight and nervous of what could happen. He almost crawls out of his hiding place, deciding to attack the legs of the closest soldier, running straight at them while using his clawed hands to give him more strength in the action, his speed needed now more than ever. 

It is an awful vision, his red eyes glowing bright, while his skin and limbs have a waxy white feeling to them, unnatural run of a half human crouch mixed with a wolf's posture, walking on all four. Many of the wolves’ heads erupt from his torso and shoulders, their sharp teeth trying to pierce the protections on the soldier, all closing on the same spot. One bite gives the taste of biter metal and leather, so distinct under one of his many tongues. He barely tries to bite deeper as he cannot afford spending a second more before a sword falls onto him. 

He avoids the harm of the first soldier, barely escapes a second and feels a slight burn from a third, blood being drawn from his flanc but thankfully in a light cut.

Their swords are silver coated.

With one swift move, Schneider hides again, trying not to growl too much but feeling the feral energy trying to take the upper hand. Maybe it is the solution, maybe thinking like a man will not help in that situation. After all, two complete wolves' heads have their jaws tight and skin trembling so angry that someone dared draw blood from them, from him.

He spent so many years just living outside of society and humanity, hunting animals or stray humans that he lost the habits of being the hunter he once was. Hell, they used to hunt together, wait for raids to come close to Flake’s tower to then hunt them all until not a drop of blood remained.

Why would these assholes be better than the mad men who wanted to raid the tower ? They aren’t, they are blinded by faith. The wolfish man's eyes glow lighter and his mind becomes blurry, feeling the growl shaking his whole body. If his whole being wants to go feral, then be it. 

If he falls, then be it.

His jump stays graceful but his claws are merciless and the many wolves’ mouth are foaming in a terrifying sight, going straight to the flanc of the first soldier, taking a second longer to bite deeper, feeling the armor bending under his jaws, the slow cracking of bones and the blood flooding.

He feels drunk, could smile if he still had his face, not even feeling the pain of the hard hit on his back, the deep slice forming on it, nor the piercing agony of an arrow. He can resist more than that, will bleed and suffer and feel it right after it's over, but right now he craves the blood and scream of the man trapped under his jaws who weaken more and more as the others fail to help him.

He wants to kill, he wants to destroy, he wants to make them suffer.

And he will do just that.

_

**Der Träumer (The dreamer)**

Pain and sadness moves Paul around, no purpose to his steps, not knowing where to go and feeling more lonely than ever before. Being rejected hit him harder than he thought it would and he feels as if he could lose his whole mind to the curse and call it a blessing.

Being rejected by a trusted friend really doesn’t sit well with him.

Yet, he doesn’t hold any resentment toward Oliver, just a deep hatred toward himself and his abilities, all synonyms of death. Oliver was once blessed by Till’s power to not feel Paul’s poison but in the end Oliver is more human than Paul will ever be or ever was.

Well, in a way at least.

Paul was once human but he doesn’t remember anything about it, what he knows is that he is just an experiment gone wrong, born from hatred and holding poison in his soul. He killed too many people while not knowing how to handle his abilities, not understanding what he was.

Being told to die by his very creator.

His creator...The man who was the father of his body, a man who cried the loss of his only child and was so angered by it that he used dark magic to reanimate his corpse and get revenge for his fall. Paul never was loved for his second life, his creator rejected him because he wouldn’t remember his past, couldn’t really, all sealed away to bring his rotting soul back.

Paul never understood his creator’s resentment. He didn’t ask to be brought back no matter who he really was before his death, didn’t even understand what he was doing wrong before the old man tried to kill him. He had obeyed every order, killed everyone responsible for the ending of his past life but he wasn’t enough and the man responsible for it tried to erase him.

So he ran away.

He only felt like he belonged once he met Flake in his early wanderings. The man was a freak just like him, unnatural to the eyes of many. The two become unlikely friends, Flake had a great interest in Paul’s abilities and liked his humor and unfaltering smile while Paul appreciated that he couldn’t hurt the other and not scare him just by existing.

Flake brought him to a tower in the middle of nowhere, built ages ago, standing tall on the edge of a cliff, where Paul met the others, lived and discovered love in all of its meaning.

He misses them, misses that past dearly and bitterly.

The pain in his heart become too familiar and he would call for Till to end it once and for all if he wasn’t so sure to be too weak in front of the God, cry and ask for forgiveness despite it all. He craves it, craves the closeness he had with the others, the laughs, the life they gave themselves.

But right now he is utterly alone.

As hours pass, he stops thinking, feeling empty and walking against his better judgement and it is then that he gets stopped by armored soldiers of God. He didn’t quite realize that he was walking along a road, rising suspicions like a lone wanderer wearing rags so far from any villages would. He doesn’t fight it, doesn’t talk, keeping his poison silent as he gets pushed around and tied up, barely even registering the situation he’s in. At that moment he feels nothing, accepts being thrown in a cage, accepts the insults and mockery. 

He doesn’t even let his poison really spill out when the interrogations start, not fighting against the punches and kicks, feeling like he deserves them all in a way.

His mind doesn’t even see the armored men, he sees himself in the tower. When an armored fist heavily goes in contact with his jaw, he sees the smiles on his friends' faces. When he feels the burn in his muscles, he remembers the warmth of their embrace.

He should have never left.

_

**Der Gefangene (the prisoner)**

Richard suddenly wakes and sits up on a bed of ashes, in the center of sleeping witches. He gasps for an instant, gathering his thoughts and finding a reason for his sudden discomfort other than the awful thoughts his dreams brought.

The sun is up in the sky, trying to pierce through the trees, slowly bringing its rays to the creature of darkness and warming him and his surroundings. The demon of desire hisses as he slowly untangles himself from the witches’ limbs, careful not to wake them up even if that is close to impossible after taking so much of their energy during the long night they spent together.

His skin is black, soiled, covered in ashes and soot after falling asleep in the remnant of the fire to seek its warmth on the cold night. It was a good idea before the sun started burning him with more force because of it. 

He slowly stretches, opening his dark wings fully, shaking the ashes from them and cracking their bones before retracting them until they disappear into his back. The action makes him grunts a little, never being a pleasing one, making him close his white eyes to reopen them looking more human. Even his hair and skin darken, gaining color instead of the white and grey that he was born in. The last parts to change are his claws, leaving his fingers too bare for his taste but necessary.

And so he stands, looking bare and weak as any human does, observing curiously the circle of witches resting on the bed of leaves shaped like a nest of flesh made just for him. This sight makes him smile a hungry smile, wishing to get more from them but knowing that he took as much as he could already.

His hunger is never really satisfied.

It is with confident steps that he walks away from the nest and the witches, not giving them a single look back, collecting his dark cloak to wrap his body in it in order to protect himself from the sun. He is already too busy thinking about what comes next, since his survival depends on the satisfaction of the flesh rather than the ingestion of it and follows the slight energy calling for him far away from here.

After a long walk, he arrives near a small path and finds back the hollow tree he used to hide the leather bag containing his belongings. Well, it isn’t really his, he took every piece from different victims to wear as his own, a small way of honoring them. He isn’t really acting like a regular desire’s demon, none of them have bags or belonging of their own, Richard is an exception for refusing to go back to the darkness and voluntarily dealing with sunlight.

Without much care, he steps out of his cloak to wear more acceptable clothes for regular humans, changing right next to the path as he is confident that no one will be around, or that the unlucky being who would be would also end on his list in an instant.

Once the last leathery buckle carefully holding his outfit in place, he wraps himself into the cloak again before continuing his walk along the path.

It’s only after a couple of hours that he meets the first regular humans working in small fields. The locals look at him with both curiosity and distrust, whispering between them without breaking eye contact. He doesn’t bother stopping there, can tell most of them already doubt his humanity just from the path he arrived from and they are right to be, that is how those small villages stay alive after all.

No, Richard isn’t a fool, no flesh is worth a knife deep into his throat or heart and even less the heat of fire and prayers taking him back to the darkness. So he keeps walking until he finds a common road, deciding to look more friendly or mysterious depending on the person he crosses path with until knights on horses and a carriage pass next to him and stop abruptly, calling for his attention.

He stops, taking a long breath before turning around to see a noble lady at the door of the carriage, smiling and extending her hand. Of course he offers her a warm smile, approaching carefully and not jumping at the attempts of intimidation from the guards.

“Noble Lady.” he says, bowing in front of her. “It is an honor to see you.”

The soldiers don’t hide their mocking smiles and the lady scoffs, moving her hand in indication that she wants him to take the hood of his cloak off. He obeys, bracing himself for the scorching sun on his skin, fully able to act like it doesn’t bother him to not blow his cover.

“You aren’t looking half bad for a peasant dressed wanderer,” the lady says with a seducing smile, extending her hand for him to kiss.

He does so, gently taking her hand in his own and caressing her skin with his lips. She is seduced in an instant, his saliva working way better than anything else he possesses. Richard doesn’t even plan on doing anything else other than taking advantage of the carriage and riches of the lady, but he quickly sees that she is interested in him past the power he has on her. She finds him attractive for no other reason than his appearance.

He can tell that the guards are wary of him, as they should, but they cannot do much against a noble woman’s orders. Well, the lady still asks them to “verify if he is good enough” and so they take his bag and cloak, make sure he doesn’t have a blade on him and also forcefully grab his arms behind his back before forcing his mouth open, looking at his teeth while another soldier looks down his pants, probably for any disease.

For any regular human that would be absolutely awful, it is humiliating to be treated like an animal to be sold at the market. Richard dislikes every second of it of course, but knows he has the power to get out of it if he really wants to. His goal is luxury and so he can handle the discomfort. 

He has nothing to hide.

Finally he is allowed inside the carriage, more like pushed inside to be more exact, the door carefully closed behind him as the carriage goes back on course.

The lady orders him to sit across her on a fancy fabric covered bench. Then she starts talking, monologuing a lot, words Richard barely listens to but acts as if he does. It is important to keep her trust no matter where she takes him, because he wants to enjoy a good bath and good bedsheets as soon as possible.

Of course he isn’t an idiot, he knows he got invited for a specific reason, for entertainment purposes. So he does that, is courteous, gives appreciation to her everything, knowing that at some points the courting will end for something more...Upbeat.

And it does, in the middle of a sentence Richard is cut by a bare foot on his knee, audacious and flirty. He looks up to the lady who has a warm smile on but no intention of asking for anything else before her foot slides to his groin.

If that is how it’s going to be, Richard can play that game way better than she might expect.

He will have a nice bath and sleep in silk sheets and is ready to win his place there.

With a seducing smile he puts his hand on her foot, slowly sliding it up her leg as he sees her pupil slowly growing dark.

This is going to be a fun ride, or so he hopes.

_

**Das Leiden (the suffering)**

Schneider shudders, letting his body fall on the floor, not caring much about the blood splashing. It isn't like he wasn't already covered in it, only this is someone else's blood now. He feels awfully tired, awfully weak and human, grunting as the pain seems to finally catch back to him. He has cuts from all over and some really deep on his back.

All of the soldiers are either down or killed in sloppy ways, but they aren’t threats anymore. The last is still breathing his last breath, gargling into his own blood.

"Flake," Schneider calls, his voice barely above a whisper, hoarse with pain and efforts, "You are still around ?" Shuffling from under is the only indication that, yes, Flake is still there. "Could you give me a hand ?"

The wolf creature flops on his back, eyes toward the sky, a pained smile on his face. His long hair is glued to his skin and feeling it dry is a nightmare. That and feeling your blood slowly leave your body.

He feels cold.

"Flake, do something, I don't feel my best right now…" he laughs and whines in almost the same breath. "In fact I'm pretty fucked, please."

He doesn't really know why he is asking for Flake's help, as if the ghoul could do anything for him without his proper lab. At that point Flake could show mercy and bite his jugular to kill him, really. He didn't expect the soldiers to have silver in their swords, making his usual fast healing pretty useless.

Flake appears, slow, tall, thin, like a dead tree standing in the bloody ground. 

"You look awful," Flake humors, not really knowing what to do other than stand and watch.

"Yeah, yeah I know." 

A beat or two passe in an uncomfortable silence before Flake's eyes open wide as he remembered something. He opens the rag he’s wearing, showing a small pouch of leather.

“I kept it for emergencies.”

Schneider frowns while observing the pointy needles shining in between Flake’s long fingers, quickly followed by a white silky string. That might help, the pain of being sewed back on cannot be worse than what he already feels after all.

“Do you want a piece of wood to bite into ?” Flake asks with a weary smile as he kneels down, unsure about his own abilities.

“Worry that I might bite you, Flake ?” Schneider laughs weakly, his body aching more now that it shook. “Aw fuck, just sew me back, okay ?”

Flake does as he’s asked, slow and delicate, trying not to look at Schneider's face as the man hisses at the contact of the dead and cold hands fondling his injuries. 

At some point one weak wolf’s head pokes out of his body in reaction to a really painful cut being moved around and the ghoul pushes on the snout, forcing it back inside. “No, no, keep that in, rude animal,” he says like he is talking to a totally independent wolf, making Schneider smile weakly in amusement, even if he slightly feels delirious at that point.

It takes longer than expected and all of Flake's supply but Schneider gets patched up. All of the wounds are closed off, with the last one not even being that deep to begin with. Flake even makes a show of the last knot he ties on the pale and anemic body, patting the leg of his friend, leaving a new bloody mark on it.

"Here you go, no blood will go out anymore," he smiles with black teeth, reassuring despites all.

"Thank you," whispers the wolfman, sounding so tired he doesn't attempt any movement, closing his eyes to get some deserved rest.

He really doesn't expect the sudden splash of coldish meat against his face, wanting to complain about it but having the meat being shoved into his mouth as soon as he opens it.

"You need to eat to get your strength back," Flake muses like you'd talk to a child, a slight shake of worry in his voice.

Schneider obeys, slowly chewing the meat he can tell comes from one of the soldiers laying around. As he keeps on being fed, Schneider observes as Flake rips more flesh and shoves it into a cape he took from one of the fallen men. He is taking food for the roads, no matter where the road might lead.

Flake looks deep in thoughts, none seemingly pleasant, making Schneider feel guilty for the recent events about the brutal change he brought to his friend. 

"I ruined it for you, huh ?" 

No answer, the ghoul doesn't let emotions pass on his face, only focusing on packing more meat. It is only after the cape is tied around the huge amount of flesh that he looks up to the other's eyes.

"I'm glad it was a friend who forced me out that hole rather than blades and spears." He now shows a smile, genuine, offering his hand to help the injured wolfman to stand.

It is difficult to do, Schneider would rather spend hours resting in the pool of blood and innards than move but Flake insists. He isn't wrong to do so, one soldier led to many others and their armors are way too intricate and shiny to come from rogue soldiers.

Flake manages to hold Schneider's up, having more strength as a ghoul than he ever possessed during his human life. They both look at the carnage at their feet, at the specific design of the armors, the words on the blades, the holy crosses. If Schneider doesn't understand the language written, Flake does, carefully pronouncing the latin's words while grimacing.

"What does it mean ?" Schneider asks slightly nervously as he feels the stiffness in Flake's body, how tense he becomes.

"These aren't regular blessings for the war. These are words to fight against people like us."

Flake looks away, as if the words burned him, he might be weak against silver in any form but not to prayers. Thankfully Schneider is tougher than he looks and will be fine in a couple of weeks if all goes right.

"We should leave," the tall ghoul announces, already taking a step away and almost trailing the other with him.

The bigger the distance with the corpses and them will be, the safer they might be.

_

**Der Arbeiter (the worker)**

Oliver works hard, just like he did the first day when he proved himself, just like every single day since. He does what he has to do with efficiency and gets praised by his boss enough for him to pay attention to the praise rather than dismissing it.

Still, he feels uneasy as his mind keeps telling him he messed up with Paul and doesn't quite belong here. It feels like any side eyes on him might mean they are upon him, that he is in danger. Which is ridiculous, since he didn't morph outside of his locked room even once since he stepped in the city years ago.

His body keeps craving for any kind of transformation but he rarely listens to it. The most he did was to morph into a cat to gain the extra warmth of the fur in winter. Really nothing else, no matter how hard it is to go against the crawling thoughts.

But something seems wrong today outside of his bubble and he tries to break out of his focus to listen to people talking, something he never felt the need to do. And words are rising in fear, people are frantic, buying more than what they need and, at first, Oliver doesn't understand why as nobody quite voices it, only implying that something is happening.

He genuinely fears that Paul brought the plague and unleashed it after he got rejected. That'd be excessive, yes, but so is Paul sometimes and who knows how the years changed his old friend.

An unexpected answer to all of his questions suddenly come from the boss himself as they all gather for their lunch break in the backyard of the shop.

The boss is a man who is getting old, his hair is grey and his eyes are tired but he still has a strong voice and stronger hands. That is why it is so strange to hear him talk so softly as he hands out bowls of soup to his employees, his hands shaking like never before.

"Listen, my boys…" he starts, getting the attention of every single one of them, "words are that the church deployed an army, they are walking upon us. Lady Katharina is an open ruler but the church will probably frown upon us and our habits. Now, I know most of you came from the streets and have dark pasts... I trust every single one of you. No matter the accusations they might bring, you asked forgiveness and are hard working, I will vouch for you."

They all fall quiet, the soup slowly getting cold in the wooden bowls as the words sink in. The streets themselves seem to follow the same pattern, a strange change after the busy morning.

"They might also ask some of you to join them," the old man continues, not looking at them as he stirs the soup. "Armies need soldiers and you are strong. I won't stop you. If God is what pushes you, follow Him."

Oliver looks down, not at all a church goer. He knows how many of them are, how they found a place in their heart for Him. Oliver and his boss are sharing doubts over that religion. They never talked about it but Oliver can read people pretty well and can tell something happened that broke the man's faith.

It is difficult to follow a God who asks to be the only one but never seems to appear to really help. Oliver cannot blindly follow that cult, not after coming from a community who worshipped many gods and meeting with a real one, even living with him for years.

Till, the one some people in his village called "The One Who Feast On Nightmares''. 

He remembers how two of the elderly had a shrine in their house, decorated with mud, bones, flowers and meat. They kept praising him in front of the icy sea every month on the full moon. Oliver was so young back then, looking at the horizon as they prepared their ritual, his curiosity pushing him to watch. He once asked the elderly what was that God's purpose, as many others in the village praised other ones with specific results.

"He allows the freezing ground to bear cultures. Otherwise we'd only have the fishes to live out of."

Strange then to pray toward the sea for a God helping with gardening, offering him sacrifices of various importance and scarifications.

He always found himself drawn to the sea and the two elderly's ritual, not quite interested in the culture of plants but fascinated by the kind of God who was attached to the ritual. Most of the other Gods asked for a shrine with fish offering and long fire, a stone standing above, seen by all.

But "The One Who Feast On Nightmares'' had a secret shrine, no feasts dedicated to him, only the slow decay of meat and flowers and prayers made in the dark of night. Just the name was enough to make Oliver interested.

He remembers when he first saw him. He waited for his parents to fall asleep before going outside in the lashing cold. He walked past the village and morphed awkwardly into a dog, not quite controlling everything, and went to the part of the beach he knew he'd find the elderly praying.

He carefully approached, trying not to startle the old women as they mumbled in a language he didn't know, a living dog tied at their feet. Not long after the wind stopped, the moon shined bright and the sea fell silent. 

A moment suspended in time as Till arrived, slowly rising from the sea, covered in algae and a thick black goo but otherwise naked, his eyes piercing even in the dark. Large wings stretched, making the imposing man even more powerful looking, irregular horns also started growing out of his scalp and shoulders, dark and shiny as obsidian.

It was mesmerizing.

He walked slowly in silence until his feet only touched the freezing sand, ignoring the women to grab the dog in his claws, petting it only once before the animal fell dead. After that Till suddenly looked up, right at Oliver still in the shape of a dog. The God smiled, the inside of his mouth shining like the moon herself, waving his fingers to him as he saw through the disguise and saw the kid behind.

Oliver felt petrified, the ice taking him whole as he lost consciousness.

He woke up days later in his parent's home, safe. That year the cultures gave way more than the usual.

"Oliver !"

"Oliver, do you hear me ?," asks his boss, taking him off his memories.

He nods to him calmly and gets a hand on his shoulder from the old man, firm and rough, reassuring, maybe even fatherly.

"Maybe the days will be a lot different to what you are all used to, but you will always have a roof as long as I live… Now taste that soup, would ya ?"

They all obeyed but most didn’t really taste the handmade meal their boss gave them more than they mindlessly ingested it, their minds too far gone into what would happen soon in the city and what it meant.

_

**Der Beschützer (The protector)**

Till is a peculiar being, everywhere and nowhere at once, mainly lurking in the shadows and humming into the nothingness waiting for a call or an opportunity. He is all over with no known limits to his powers, bringing himself to the surface to scare unexpecting souls when existence bores him.

The handful of people calling him Till don’t even know his real name and to be fair he doesn't remember what it once was or if there even was one in the first place. He accepted the name as his own long ago and cherishes it.

He is so old.

A part or him opens his eyes inside the murky water of a bog, responding to a powerful call. He enjoys the water filling his lungs for a while, looking at the grey sky above. He hears it all, the amphibians, the birds and crawling insects, but also the stomping from many directions around, close and far, a small gathering against an army.

He decides to sit then, coughing black goo out of his throat as insects crawl out of it, and shakes the heavy black pelt on his back. The noises he makes catch the attention of his callers who close the distance between them, dark laughs escaping their mouths as their savior responded to them.

Old powerful witches, ancient even.

He barely has the time to stand up that their boney fingers are all over him, touching and worshipping his form, even gathering some of the black goo drying on his skin. He is a powerful being after all, every piece of him holds power.

"Crones of the bog, what are you calling me for ?" He asks them while not even looking at them in the eyes, letting more black goo fall from his dark lips as his nails scratch their scalps without much care.

He feels their fury at the question, can tell what the problem is but will not answer before hearing them voice it. The problem is obviously the army he felt, strong and determined. Trespassing.

"An army, my prince," one slurs, caressing his firm torso. "An army walking on usss, we cannot contain them all, we tried, we tried."

An army through the bogs, really what a silly idea, Till thinks, not that it is unexpected from the humans, logic isn’t always on their side but he also knows those crones, knows that they have been living there in peace for centuries. The world truly is changing if an army is trespassing their lands after so long. This place isn’t really worth invading, what might be their plan ?

"What will you give me for it ?" he asks, almost sounding bored as witches of that kind can be difficult to deal with.

He eyes the most powerful one of the bunch, her scleras almost as golden as honey. His own are white and red, blood pulsing underneath like thunder and having the effect of making her bow almost comically as his authority weighs on her old back.

“We got you a gift, prince” she coos before spitting, pointing to a small nearby basket with her skeletal arm.

Interesting.

There is no sound nor movement in the basket. It doesn't contain an animal, no, it doesn’t seem like it. Till tilts his head, curious, and tries to guess just by looking, feeling. He feels the small heartbeat echoing in the soil and even more clearly the dreams that are played in the small mind.

The gift is a child of hopeless future.

He’ll gladly take them off this earth to his domain of the shadows and so he does, opening his black lips and laughing as the bottom of his body became darkness and surrounds the makeshift cradle, destroying it and its inside, feeling the life gets drowned out of it in an instant, sipping the blood through the darkness like the most delicious nectar.

That child will grow under his command and become one of his many children. He cannot count them all but he does know them in a way that no human’s mind can comprehend.

As his body reforms the crones laughs, victorious. Till isn’t nearly as excited as they are, that gift is little to no pay for what they are asking of him and the fact that they don’t quite realize it is annoying him.

“Do you think that is nearly enough ?" He asks in between his teeth with disdain.

He barely listens as the old hags stumble over their words, and knows already what they plan to pay him with : the blood and suffering from the army. Typical and boring.

He thinks he doesn’t make the crones tremble like they used to. That is what pretending to be close does to them, they think they can rival you and someday take you down. He feels their desire to do so, barely awake in their minds but inevitable. Foolish minds, too much human meat made their brain rot. Ah, to even think that they can someday harm him.

No, he’ll drag them to the darkness himself, laughing all the way as their nails will break trying to stay on earth and ask for forgiveness he’ll never give. They’ll rot like every other before and more to come. He’ll bury them all and will find an immense joy thinking about it.

"You owe me, crones. You always do." He says, having enough of their babbling, interrupting them with his low voice before disappearing in the ground.

At first the old witches tremble, scared that the old God turned against them but quickly rejoice as they can feel his energy traveling through earth away from them, feeling his poison slowly destroying life there before bringing it back in the same way, destruction and creation is what Till does best.

They follow his path without moving, feeling him going further and further away from the center of the bog. Soon, the God will bring his wrath upon the witches' enemies, in a way or another. The crones laugh, feverish at the idea of collecting bones from what the God will leave behind.

Till slithers his shadow under the wooden walls of the camp before digging his way out of the soft ground, next to the tents of the trespassing army fighting under a banner he doesn't care for. He carefully chooses not to be visible to them for the time being, only bringing a sudden cold in his path and a slow fog rising from his steps, like a monarch of death that he often is.

But something wrong is going on, he can feel it and that isn’t coming from his actions.

Most of the soldiers are looking sick, pale, shadows of men with dark circles under their tired eyes. They are dead walking, none look like they can go further than a week. The luckiests will be crippled for the rest of their lives. 

Till smells the air then, a smile appearing on his face, less grotesque than what he usually offers his callers. He softens as he walks through the camp, ignoring the sick souls and soon approaches a cage smelling like blood and rot, seeing a body curled up on the ground, abandoned, left for dead.

“Paul,” he calls softly, passing through the metal to get inside.

The other jumps at the voice, sits and looks around before focusing his vision on the silhouette in front of him getting clearer by the second. Till’s callous hand goes on his cheek, checking at the darkening bruise on it.

Paul got beaten, badly, not that it really affects him in the long run but he still looks badly injured at the moment. Till hums as he caresses the skin, pushing the puffy skin up and getting a tear of blood from the other’s eye.

“I missed you, small one,” the God whispers, truly pleased by the reunion.

“How did you find me ?” Paul asks weakly, knowing deeply the reasons but still wishing for more, offering a hopeful smile.

“A bit of luck, and then the bodies, the rot and sickness. You really aren’t holding back I see. Upset ?”

Paul might recognize that he is. He let himself be captured but didn’t expect the rush of violence that followed. He might not be human but he still feels emotions like them, he just hides a lot behind a smile.

“Been by myself for too long," Paul admits, hiding a single tear and the details about his visit to Oliver. He waves his arm a bit to show the camp and the madness that occured. “Then this shit happened.”

The old God tilts his head, reading more than what Paul voiced, giving such a look that the small man decides to tell more.

"We all separated long ago, but I found Oliver back recently. He rejected me to stay with the humans."

Till hums, understanding the troubles of the other. Oliver's rejection probably hurts more than the punches, reminding Paul of how different he is from humanity. After all, Oliver always was the most human of them all, but by living amongst regular people, he shielded himself from his old friends.

“I cannot live with them, I tried. I always end up killing everyone in one way or another,” Paul adds with poison and regrets in his voice, his smile unfaltering.

Being a plague vector is an awful thing to be, to look, think and act like a human only to bring them death is just cruel. Paul wasn’t really born human, he was born of a spell, created for a dark purpose, for revenge and pain that he can never satisfy. After all, even the wizard who manifested Paul couldn’t even get rid of him when he realized that his creation was getting out of hand.

Till doesn't understand most humans, saw too much of their dark side to really appreciate them as a whole. Most also are too fast to burn and so quick to judge the old gods for what they are in their pure essence. He finds more interest and beauty in the creatures and deviants these days.

“You kept me the way I am just to leave us, Till, why ?” is almost asked to nobody, too low to be heard by most humans but still loud to the God's ears.

Not by malice, is what Till thinks but doesn’t voice. He never expected their group to separate that way, only knew he couldn’t stay for a while as it is his nature, but the others ? It is a mystery to him.

“I never thought you’d be left alone,” is his true answer, soft and sorry as he offers his hand to help the other to stand.

Paul clings to him, desperate, the energy radiating from him weakening the soldiers around even more. His powers are tied to his emotions after all and Till made them more efficient once upon a time. Till now regrets it as it probably made things more difficult for the poor thing.

“I don’t want to be alone again,” Paul admits in pained words.

“And you won’t be," Till promises.

After all, Till isn't inherently a God of pain and death. He sadly is called less and less for positive actions. It is time he goes back to his protective side, for the ones he cares for. He embraces the smaller frame and lets a blanket of darkness surround them, taking them both far away from there, leaving the camp bare with dying men.


End file.
